Duncan (41 page)

Phoebe stared at him, her dark hair a wild nimbus around her head, her eyes widening briefly, before they narrowed to angry slits. Her hands fisted at her sides, and Duncan felt the draw of power as she called upon the vampires who’d chosen to stand with her against him. One or two of those sent him triumphant glances, but the others avoided his gaze, as if hoping to escape detection. He scanned their faces quickly, not recognizing any of them. A more careful examination and he realized why. These were Phoebe’s own, vampires she’d made herself over the years while, according to her, she prepared for Victor’s demise. But they were young—the oldest was not even a hundred years, most far younger than that—and none of them was a master. Their presence would still help Phoebe, as much as doubling her power, especially if she was willing to drain them dry in order to win. But in the end, it still came down to Phoebe versus Duncan. And Duncan would win that battle.

It would sadden him to kill Phoebe. He’d thought her a friend. Though they’d never met, they’d worked together many times over the years, consulting by phone and computer as she conducted her investigations all over the country. But she’d tried to kill Duncan and all his vampires, had been willing to let Emma die in order to get to him. He could never forgive that. And as a vampire lord, he could never tolerate that kind of challenge to his rule. She had to die.

Duncan reached out from within the depths of his power and touched Phoebe’s thoughts—a brief touch, there and gone before she could sense the intrusion. He felt her determination, but also her fear for her husband, Ted Micheletti. They’d been mated far too long for Ted to survive her death.

“What about Ted?” Duncan asked quietly. “What about all of these others?” He gestured to the vampires who ranged behind her. “Surrender to me, Phoebe, and they needn’t die with you.”

“No!” Ted burst into the room from the hallway, pushing his way through Phoebe’s vampires to reach her side. He was a big man, towering over his diminutive wife as he glared at Duncan. “Don’t you dare, Phoebe,” he growled. “Don’t you let him sweet talk you into giving up. I’ll stand with you ‘til the end, my love. I want it no other way.”

She spared him a tear-filled glance, then turned back to Duncan. Her jaw jutted forward with resolve. “On any given Sunday, Duncan,” she said, borrowing from the idea that no contest has a forgone conclusion. “I might surprise you.”

Duncan gave her the respect of nodding in agreement, though the outcome was indeed forgone is this case. Even with her power doubled, Phoebe couldn’t defeat him. She’d been deluding herself all these years if she’d thought she could have overthrown Victor, and Victor hadn’t stood a chance with Duncan.

“As you wish,” he said. “Miguel?”

“Yes, my lord.”

Hearing the tension in Miguel’s voice, Duncan gave his lieutenant a quick half grin. “No worries, Miguelito,” he said fondly. “Watch my back?”

“Always, Sire.”

“Emma!” he called without taking his eyes off Phoebe. “Remember your promise.” He thought he heard a dismissive puff of breath from her, but it may have been his power rattling the foliage.

His point made, Duncan sucked his power in closer, aware of his vampires backing away to give him room and to avoid being caught in the deadly vortex of his defensive shield. The raw force of his unbound power, which had been tearing the room apart, shut off like a thrown switch. The room was silent in the aftermath as everyone froze, listening.

Duncan favored Phoebe with a cold look. “Ladies first,” he said mockingly, intentionally pricking the pride he’d felt from her earlier, the pride that had driven her to think she could become a vampire lord.

Phoebe reacted predictably, curling her hands into claws in front of her and screaming at him in rage. Duncan strengthened his shield in reflex, a move honed into an automatic reaction over decades of practice, requiring no thought on his part. But if he’d had any doubts as to the outcome of this battle, they fled in the face of Phoebe’s first assault. Driven by fury, carrying the full measure of her power, it was sucked into his defensive shield without a trace. There was not even a momentary dent to indicate its impact. Phoebe looked up and met his gaze, and he read the knowledge of failure in her eyes.

“Last chance,” he called.

“Fuck you, Duncan,” she snarled.

“As you wish.”Duncan drew on his tremendous strength, forming a blade of pure power, invisible to the naked eye, but shining like a silver sword to those with eyes to see. Phoebe had such eyes. She saw the blade and howled in fury, dropping down to a crouch, making herself small as she sucked juice from her vampire children and wove their combined power into as tight a shield as she could make. One by one her vampires collapsed behind her as she sucked them dry. Even Ted crumpled to the floor, a trickle of blood leaking from his nose, as Phoebe pulled his small bit of energy back into herself in a desperate bid for survival.

Duncan was already stepping forward as Phoebe howled her defiance. He thrust the shining blade of his power through the spinning shell of his shield, slicing through Phoebe’s defenses as if they weren’t there, stabbing into her chest, shattering her ribs and piercing her heart.

Phoebe screamed as her heart exploded, as Ted convulsed and as her vampires died. Duncan held the blade in her heart until there was nothing left of the organ, until it was dust in her chest. He pulled the blade back then, drawing the power into himself, clenching his fist as if his fingers gripped a physical hilt. Dropping his shield, he took a step back . . . and stumbled, falling to his knees as a something with the force of a sledge hammer slammed into his back, tearing through muscle and bone, aiming for his heart.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Emma knew she was being herded. She knew Duncan had appointed Baldwin as her protector, probably on pain of death or something equally unpleasant. She didn’t mind, because there was nothing she could do about it. If you’re going to fall in love with a big, bad, alpha male, you have to accept the mile-wide protective streak that goes with it. So, she didn’t fight Baldwin when he took her arm and moved her to one side, even though it made her feel like one of the potted plants, especially when Phoebe—Phoebe!—showed up.

“I’m no one’s pet,” the traitorous bitch drawled as she strolled into the room, and Emma wished she had something to throw at her. Baldwin clearly felt the same way. He stiffened in surprise and took an aggressive step forward, closing ranks with Duncan’s other vamps who were all bristling with anger, ready to defend Duncan. Emma stayed where she was, still and quiet, not wanting to draw any attention to herself for fear she’d be hustled right out of the room. She wanted to see and hear what was going on!

Her heart squeezed at the obvious grief in Duncan’s voice when he tried to talk Phoebe out of what he clearly considered a suicide mission. Emma didn’t know anything about vampire power, but she figured Phoebe had to die either way. She’d tried to burn them all alive, after all. Duncan wasn’t trying to save Phoebe; he was trying to save the others. He didn’t seem worried at all for himself, just sad and resigned to what he had to do.

And then suddenly everything changed. Emma’s skin prickled with energy, every hair on her body standing up as a whirlwind appeared out of nowhere and filled the huge room. Ceramic vases filled with greenery toppled over, breaking against the marble floor. Dirt and leaves were sucked up by the wind and sent spinning against the walls and windows like hail. Phoebe was staring at Duncan as if she’d never seen him before, as if he was her worst nightmare come true. He was still talking to Phoebe, but Emma couldn’t hear what they were saying above the noise. She heard Max Grafton scream, though, saw him rolling across the floor like a shrieking tumbleweed until he crashed into a cluster of big clay pots.

Wanting to hear what they were saying, Emma sidled a little closer, slipping behind and between clusters of plants until she was nearly even with where Duncan stood staring at Phoebe.

“Emma,” Duncan called suddenly.

She froze, certain he knew she’d moved closer, that she was no longer safely hidden behind Baldwin’s bulk.

“Remember your promise,” he said, and Emma puffed out a dismissive breath. Like she was going to run away if things went south. What was he thinking? But she no sooner had the thought, than everything changed again. Silence fell over the room like a thick blanket, and Emma crouched down, hiding.

“Ladies first,” Duncan said, his voice thick with a mockery Emma had never heard from him before.

Electricity tingled along Emma’s nerves, much stronger that what she’d felt only moments before. That had been like static electricity on a dry summer day; this was a live wire skimming along her nerves. She shuddered and closed her eyes in pain, clenching her jaw against the urge to groan. When she opened them again, Phoebe was still standing opposite Duncan, but there was a resigned set to her shoulders, a weariness in the way she held herself despite her defiant gaze.

Duncan barely moved, standing cool and calm as always, his legs braced slightly apart, his weight on the balls of his feet. He raised his arm to chest height, and his fingers curled into his palm as if holding something there. He blinked lazily and the pressure in the room began to grow, slowly at first, then building as if all the air was being sucked out at once. Emma began to pant as her lungs worked overtime trying to collect enough oxygen. A weight crushed her chest, and she leaned back against the wall, suddenly weak and lightheaded, but determined to stay, to witness Phoebe’s execution. She blinked, bewildered, as Duncan stabbed his hand outward, and then Phoebe screamed in agony. The vampires who’d come into the room with Phoebe began to fall like flies, collapsing where they stood without a single sound. Not far from Emma, Max Grafton grunted, and she stiffened to attention. While she’d been watching the action and trying to breathe, Grafton had woken enough to pull himself behind one of the few chairs in the room. He was hunkered down like a nasty troll, looking pale and sweaty, pressing a hand against his ribs as if they were injured. Emma hoped his ribs were broken. She hoped he’d push too hard and one of them would puncture his lung and he’d die of asphyxiation while everyone was too busy to notice. Except her.

Lost in images of Max Grafton’s imminent death, Emma glanced over and saw Phoebe had curled into a ball on the floor. She was still screaming, but weaker now, fading quickly until she literally began falling apart. Duncan stared at her crumbling form dispassionately as he took a single step backward. A flash of movement brought Emma’s gaze back to Grafton, and she screamed as he brought up a gun and shot Duncan in the back.

Emma was on the move. All around her vampires were racing to Duncan’s side. Miguel was shouting orders, placing himself between Duncan and what was left of Phoebe’s vampires as he searched for the enemy. But Emma already knew who the enemy was. Grafton still had his gun up, still aimed at Duncan, his finger compressing for a second shot as Duncan collapsed to his knees. Emma brought up her own gun and fired without thinking, three shots, tightly grouped, just like at the range. One, two, three, and Grafton went down. Emma raced over and kicked his gun away, dropping to her knees next to him. She stared at the grimace on his face, at the blood on his chest and bubbling from his mouth, and she froze, not quite believing what she’d done.

She blinked, then whispered, “Duncan,” and spun around clumsily.

“Emma,” Miguel called. “Get over here.”

She was there before he snarled the last word, tears filling her eyes as she saw Duncan lying on the floor, eyes closed, blood pooling beneath him. “Is he dead?” she asked, her voice catching on a sob.

“No,” Miguel said shortly. “But he needs blood.”

She looked up in confusion. “Blood?”

The dark-haired vamp gave her an impatient look. “Christ,” he swore. “He’s a vampire. He’s wounded. He needs blood.”

“Oh! Of course,” she shook her head at her own stupidity. She handed someone her gun and began stripping off her jacket. “Do you have something—”

Miguel was already handing her a knife—a short, fat switchblade with a fancy handle, which he snapped out and handed to her grip first.

“Be careful,” he warned. “It’s sharp.”

Emma stared at the blade, then shook her head, handing it back to him. “You do it,” she said, holding out her wrist. “I don’t think— Ow!” She gave Miguel a dirty look. “A little warning would be nice, dude,” she muttered, but quickly eased Duncan’s head onto her lap and held her bloody wrist to his mouth. Did she need to rub it over his lips? Or maybe stroke his throat to get him to— Yikes!

Duncan latched onto her wrist, his fangs sinking into the flesh. It hurt, but only briefly as the euphoric in his bite did its magic and Emma began to feel . . . wonderful. Duncan’s hands came up to hold her wrist in place, and she leaned her upper body over his, needing to get closer to him, but also wanting to conceal the obvious signs of her growing desire. She only hoped Duncan would stop before too long, otherwise, she was going to—

“Emma.”

She opened her eyes to find Duncan gazing up at her. He was no longer sucking at her wrist, but the heat in his eyes told her he was aware of her arousal and returned it in spades. He licked her wrist slowly and thoroughly, the coagulant in his saliva sealing the wound while the feel of his tongue against her skin did nothing to cool her hunger for him.

He gave her a half smile, then reached up and brushed his knuckles over her cheek.

“I thought you were dead,” she whispered, holding on to him tightly.

“No,” he murmured. “I have too much to live for.”

“My lord,” Miguel said, reaching out to place a hand on Duncan’s shoulder.

“Right.”Duncan put Emma gently aside and accepted the hand-up his lieutenant offered, while Baldwin lifted Emma to her feet and began wrapping her arm in one of the ever-present white handkerchiefs. They were no sooner on their feet than Miguel was hustling them out of the house to the waiting SUVs.

“Ari,” Miguel called. “You drive. Baldwin will go with you. We’ll clean up here, my lord,” he added to Duncan, “and follow in the other truck.”